


Salt Water in my Veins

by a_solitary_marshmallow



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, i've been... in a mood, im sorry, look i promise im a nice person!!!, more a hopeful ending, please dont ship this, rated teen because... you know, seriously this is kinda dark, sometimes, the suicide attempt, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_solitary_marshmallow/pseuds/a_solitary_marshmallow
Summary: Set during A Tale of Two Stans. Ford goes after Stan when he gets kicked out.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 39
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is kinda dark, please be careful!!! I've been in a mood recently and needed to write something angsty. Plus, the old Gravity Falls obsession has come back with a vengeance! Put those two together and you've got some MAJOR brotherly angst.
> 
> (Also PLEASE this is not ship ew)

Stan had always loved the ocean.

Maybe it stemmed from the countless days he and his brother had spent on the waterfront, building sandcastles and splashing in the shallows and chasing each other with seaweed up and down the beach. Ma had used to joke that they had salt water running through their veins. Which of course Ford rebuked on the principle that it was anatomically impossible for a living human to have salt water for blood.

Ha – rebuked. See, Stan _did_ know some big words. With a brother like Ford you were bound to pick ‘em up. Stan also knew ‘photosynthesis’ and ‘phospholipid bilayer’, though he wasn’t quite sure what the latter meant.

And wasn’t that just the icing on the cake? Of course the only big words he knew came from Ford. Apparently Stan was good at leeching offa his brother. Well, you had to be good at something, right?

The beach was cold and dark. Sand that was once sun-soaked now leeched the warmth from his bare feet as he padded down to the shoreline. Black water barely glinted in the thin beams of moonlight peeking out from behind stringy clouds. The chill breeze sent a shiver down his back.

But even after everything, the rhythmic rush of the waves was soothing. The beach had always been a safe haven – his only one now, apparently, since Pa had been all too eager to give him the boot. Of course the bag was pre-packed. The stingy bastard hadn’t even put in five dollars, too.

Stan gritted his teeth. Yeah, he could crow and bullshit all he wanted – _“I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!”_ – But what exactly did the world have to offer for a dirt-poor kid with no qualifications, no papers and no job? Hell, he didn’t even have a high school diploma! What was he gonna do, start up a business and become a billionaire? He couldn’t even pass a fucking maths class.

Plus – Stan always managed to screw up whatever he had going for him. Apparently his brother was no exception. He could still see the coldness in Ford’s eyes as he closed the curtains – how had that only been a few hours ago? – and it stung, it hurt like a bitch, and even though he deserved it he couldn’t help but wish like an idiot that his brother would have fought for him.

‘Us against the world!’ Yeah. Sure. Like Ford would need a leech hanging off him for the rest of his life, a freeloader doing nothing but drag him down. This was better for both of them. Stan’s family would be free of him, and Stan… well, he wouldn’t have to listen to that nagging voice in the back of his head that always told him how much of a failure he was.

Stan walked forward into the water.

Icy-cold waves lapped at his skin. The cold burned. He pressed forward and in no time his pant legs were soaked. Every step had the water crawling higher over his waist, then his stomach, then his chest. The ocean sloshed against him playfully – it felt like an elbow to the ribs, an arm slung across his shoulder, a cheerful punch to the arm. It cradled him. He couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. His mouth tasted like salt.

As inky-black water closed over his head and he let the ocean take him, Stan could have sworn that he heard distant shouting.

_Fuck_ , drowning hurt.

Flickers of thought flashed through his mind like electrical sparks as they broke the surface. He tried to gasp in air and instead got a mouthful of water. Stan hacked and choked and would have sunk back under if not for the hands grabbing him. He couldn’t see. Partially from the dark and partially from the salt and partially from the _blinding_ pain in his lungs, lancing through his body with every rattling cough.

Then there was sand beneath him. Stan collapsed forward onto it, body heaving with coughs. He was so _tired_. But his body revolted against the near-drowning for him, hurling up what seemed like buckets of seawater that burned his throat on the way out. There were hands on his back and a voice in his ear but Stan couldn’t understand what it was saying.

Finally his body had rid itself of salt water and he slumped numbly. Cold, damp grains of sand pressed against the side of his face and stuck to his lips. The beach was solid and gritty beneath him.

“-ley! _Stanley_! Don’t just lie there, _say_ something goddammit!”

Ford? His brother’s voice was shrill and cracking with panic.

“ _LEY_!”

“Mmph.” Not very eloquent, but he couldn’t make his mouth work how he wanted it to. Ford let out something that sounded like a sob.

“Thank _god_.”

Stan was being pulled into his brother’s lap now – cradled, with fingers running through his hair. He didn’t have the energy to pretend to put up a fight. Ford’s clothes were just as drenched as Stan’s but through them he was _warm_ , and he trembled as he rocked them back and forth in the sand.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that to me ever again. Do you hear me? _Never_ again. Oh my god. Oh my _god_ Ley. I almost _lost_ you.”

Maybe Stan was dreaming, because the last time he’d seen his brother Ford hated his guts. Yeah, this was probably one of those hallucinations you supposedly got before you died.

He lifted a wobbly hand to pat Ford’s shoulder and accidentally got his face instead. Not his fault. The world was still stubbornly swirling.

“S’okay.” He managed to slur out. Ford gave a watery, hysterical laugh. “I’ll be outta yer hair, n’ pa w’ll be happy fer once. T’ll be like yer an only child-”

“I don’t want to be an only child! I need my _brother_!” Ford all but shouted in his ear. Stan whimpered at the volume. Immediately Ford quieted, stroking his hair, running his hands fervently down Stan’s arms as if he needed an assurance that he was _there_ , alive and breathing. “No, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“M’sorry I broke your project.”

“I know. I’m sorry too. I know you didn’t mean to break it, of course you didn’t. I was stupid.”

“M’sorry.” Stan whispered again. And then it hit him over the head like a brick – oh _shit_. Now he’d made an even worse mess. He’d worried Ford and now the nerd was gonna blame himself because that was how Ford thought. And if a hospital found out what he’d done they would contact his parents and force them to them deal with him. Maybe he’d even get tossed in the loony bin. Oh _god_. He’d really fucked up this time.

“I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Ford.” His voice trembled and he gasped for breath. There was more salt water on his face now but this was warm, and it streaked down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’msorryI’msorry-”

“Stan, Stan it’s _okay_.”

No it _wasn’t_ and it would never be okay, and now he was blubbering like a baby, sobs rattling his tired frame as he buried his face in Ford’s jacket. He whimpered pathetically. “I’m _so sorry-_ ”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Ford pressed a fierce kiss to his hair. “I forgive you. We’re – we’re gonna be okay, Stanley. I promise.”

And, well, it was a done deal. Ford _never_ broke a promise.

“We gotta get you warm.” Ford said frantically. It was then that Stan noticed the violent tremors shuddering through his own body. Huh. “We need to get inside. Do you think you can walk? Home is only a few minutes away and-”

The worlds struck a chord with Stan and he reached up desperately to grab Ford’s shoulder. “ _No!_ I can’t go back. Pa’ll kill me.”

Ford let out a bark of what wasn’t quite laughter. “Right, right. At least let me take you to your car. And get you some dry clothes. God, Ley, you’re freezing…”

Ford continued to talk, as was his way when he was stressed and frightened. And Stan was content to be held and rocked on a dark, wet beach, with the sound of the waves close by and his brother’s arms around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a while ago at the suggestion of a comment on chapter one, and finally got around to polishing it off! Let me know what you think :)

Ford didn’t care.

 _He didn’t care_.

His br- the _person_ who had been kicked out had ruined his entire future. Of course Ford wouldn’t care about his wellbeing. It simply wasn’t logical for Ford to worry that Stan was out on the streets alone at night, or that he didn’t even have a jacket… the desperation in his eyes when Ford pulled the curtains closed…

No. It was illogical. And Ford prided himself on being logical. If he wasn’t a creature of reason and intellect, what was he?

He tried to sleep, shoving his pillow over his face to block out the sounds of Ma and Pa yelling downstairs. But try as he might, unconsciousness would not come to him. Ford blamed it on being accustomed to having another person in the room, sleeping nearby. It certainly had nothing to do with guilt and worry.

…Stanley didn’t even have his jacket.

Ford rolled over to glance blearily at the clock on his bedroom wall. It was nearly midnight. Downstairs was silent, so Ma and Pa must have gotten tired of their shouting and retired to bed, leaving the house empty. The only noise was the quiet ticking of the clock counting down to midnight.

The house had never been this quiet before.

Ford swung his legs over the edge of his bed with a sigh. Where did Stanley keep his jacket? A few errant beams of moonlight pieced through the gap in the curtains and spilled across his bedroom floor, lighting up slivers of the room as he searched. There, hanging on a stack of comic books. The watery light made Stan’s red jacket look pale and washed-out.

Ford grabbed it, rifling through his drawers to find his own coat. Oh damn it, he’d spilled gravy on it a few nights ago and Ma had taken it to be washed. His sweater would have to do.

Ford groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He was _not_ considering this. He was not sneaking out in the middle of the night when Stanley was who-knew-where doing who-knew-what. The knucklehead had a _car_ , he could have left Glass Shard Beach already.

Ford glanced back at his bed. Despite the promise of a restless night’s sleep it was _warm._

He sighed and headed for the door.

He had despaired over it earlier, but now Ford was moving he realized that there was really only one place Stanley would go. The place he felt safe; where they had whiled away hours and hours, hiding from bullies and their father’s bad moods and the ever-present expectations of school. So Ford pulled his sweater tighter around himself and hurried down to the beach.

It was a short walk. Ford could smell the salty breeze and hear the soft washing of waves before the shoreline came into view. He shivered at the icy breeze. Where _was_ that idiot? Ford hugged Stan’s jacket to his chest as he scanned the beach, glasses fogging up from the heat of his skin. He cursed and took them off to wipe them on his sleeve.

Was that a red smudge? Ford fumbled to put his glasses on, a sigh of relief escaping him when he recognised Stan’s car parked by the sand. He headed towards it.

The lights were off. Stan was probably sleeping – in his car, on the freezing beach! He could get sick! And that wasn’t even considering the threat of thieves. Ugh, it was like he didn’t even care about his own safety!

Ford rapped on the passenger side window.

“Stan? Stan, you forgot your jacket.”

It was ominously quiet. Ford peered through the window, only to find the driver’s seat empty. And so was the back. The car was deserted, keys sitting on the dashboard.

The keys. Why on _earth_ would Stanley leave the keys where anyone could take them? At night, all alone, next to the shoreline…

A chill prickled down Ford’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold. He whipped around to the ocean, heart in his throat. _No, no, no, please no-_

 _Yes_ , the universe whispered back, because there, up to his chest in the water and getting ever-deeper, was Stan.

The jacket slipped from Ford’s numb fingers. He was running before he could even think to, before he could feel the wind whipping his face and taste the salt on his lips. His foot caught in a shallow ditch and he stumbled, hands hitting the sand, scrambling back up in an instant.

“STANELY!” No no _no_ this could not be happening, Ford was having a nightmare and any moment now he would wake up.

In the space between blinks Stanley had disappeared under the water. Where _was_ he? Ford couldn’t see him, couldn’t distinguish his brother from the unyielding blackness of the ocean. He plunged into the shallows and the icy water sprayed against his skin.

“Stan! Where are you? _Stan_!” 

There was no sign of him. He’d been there just a second ago, gone the next. Ford struck out frantically for where he’d last seen his brother. The cold _burned_. He hardly felt it.

Water up to his waist, his chest, sloshing around him. Ford sucked in a breath and dove down, squeezing his eyes shut against the salt. Icy water closed around his head, the world turning numb and muffled. He felt around desperately and found nothing. Nothing but water and sand and fragments of seaweed. His lungs were already burning.

No, no _, no!_ Ford broke to the surface to grab a breath before diving down again. His clawing hands groped at water, seaweed – and then an arm.

He kicked for the surface but Stan was heavy, a dead weight. Ford barely managed to drag them both towards the shallows, until he could finally get his feet on solid ground and stand, head breaking the surface. Besides him Stan let out a hoarse gasp that turned into choking. Choking but _alive_. Stan would have sunk back under if Ford hadn’t grabbed him, clutching his brother close as he dragged him towards the shore. Water and fog clung to his glasses. His own ragged gasping filled his ears.

They staggered onto the sand and collapsed.

Stan hacked, wet coughs that sounded painful. Ford grabbed his brother’s shoulders as Stan hurled up seawater – god, how much did he _swallow_? He was choking like his lungs were drowning, like he would never breathe again. Ford rubbed his back desperately.

“Stan, it’s okay, you’re okay. Just breathe. Come on, you can do it.”

It seemed like an eternity before the fit passed – and then Stan slumped forward onto the sand. Ford’s ears roared.

“Stanley?”

Stan was terrifyingly still. Ford shook him frantically, voice shrill with panic.

“Stanley! _Stanley_! Don’t just lie there, _say_ something goddammit!” There was no movement. His voice cracked because oh _god_ , what if his brother was _dying_ and – no, no, Ford wouldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t let that happen. “ _LEY_!”

Stan groaned.

Ford collapsed inwards, choking on a sob of relief. “Thank _god_.”

Stan groaned again as Ford pulled him into his lap, cold and limp but with a pulse thudding under his skin. _Alive_. Ford ran his shaking hands through Stan’s wet hair to reassure himself that his brother was safe and alive and there in his arms.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that to me ever again. Do you hear me? _Never_ again.” His voice cracked again. “Oh my god. Oh my _god_ Ley. I almost _lost_ you.”

Almost lost his brother. Almost lost the boy with the wonky grin and the childish sense of humour and fierce protectiveness. The teen who doodled in both their textbooks and dreamed of sailing the world and liked to box and cook even though it wasn’t ‘manly’, who borrowed his girlfriend’s kitchen for a day to make Ford cupcakes when their father had deemed them too old for a birthday cake. And Ford had almost _lost_ him.

He whimpered, rocking them back and forth in the sand. What was Stan _thinking_? He’d almost – he’d almost _died_ because of a stupid mistake. They were both so _stupid_ , they could talk, why hadn’t Ford been willing to _talk?_ He’d been mad and he wasn’t _thinking_ and now-

Stan clumsily reached up to pat Ford’s cheek, breaking him out of his thoughts. Ford shivered and hugged him tighter. Stan blinked, evidently trying to focus on his brother’s face.

“S’okay.” Stan slurred. Of _course_ Stan would be trying to comfort him. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of Ford’s chest. “I’ll be outta yer hair, n’ pa w’ll be happy fer once. T’ll be like yer an only child-”

“I don’t want to be an only child! I need my _brother_!”

Ford hadn’t meant to shout, and he regretted it when Stan flinched with a whimper. He lowered his voice hurriedly, stroking Stan’s hair with frantic hands, touching his arms, his face, anything to prove that he was real and alive and safe. “No, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“M’sorry I broke your project.” Stan mumbled into Ford’s sweater. Ford bit down another hysterical laugh.

“I know. I’m sorry too. I know you didn’t mean to break it, of course you didn’t. I was stupid.” Because really, how could Ford have ever thought that _Stan_ would sabotage him on purpose? He was big and hot-tempered and used his fists before he used his brain, but he was _Stanley_. Stanley who was only ever proud of Ford for his achievements. Of course it had been an accident.

“I’m sorry.” Stan whispered again. “I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Ford.” Ford tried to shush him but Stan was picking up momentum, voice cracking and shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’msorryI’msorry-”

“Stan, Stan it’s _okay_ -”

Stan grabbed the front of Ford’s sweater and clung on for dear life, shaking with sobs. Stanley was _weeping_ in a way Ford had never seen before. “I’m so _sorry-”_

“Shh, it’s okay.” Ford cut him off, pressing a fierce kiss to his brother’s hair. Fuck their father, fuck the science fair, fuck that _stupid_ college. His brother was _hurting_. Ford hated himself for not seeing it before. Well, he wouldn’t be making that mistake again. “I forgive you. We’re – we’re gonna be okay, Stanley. I promise.”

Stan’s sobs quieted into hiccupping, but he was still shaking. Ford rubbed his arm soothingly – it was _icy_ cold.

Oh, he really was an idiot! Stan had been in the water for longer than him, and out in the open for who-knew how long. The shivers wracked his body.

“We gotta get you warm.” Ford gasped out. “We need to get inside. Do you think you can walk? Home is only a few minutes away and-”

“ _No_!” Stan snapped up to grab Ford’s wrist, eyes huge and wild. “I can’t go back,” he rasped, “Pa’ll kill me.”

Oh, right. The whole ‘being kicked out’ thing. Ford bit down yet another hysterical laugh. Come on Stanford, keep it together!

“Right, right. At least let me take you to your car. And get you some dry clothes. God, Ley, you’re _freezing_.”

He ran a quick mental calculation. If hypothermia hadn’t set in yet it would soon, and a quick heating risked stopping Stan’s heart altogether, so getting his brother into a hot shower was out of the question. The Stanleymobile was insulated well enough – but they were still soaking. Ford had to sneak inside and get some dry clothes for the both of them, as well as any heat packs lying around. Ma would forgive him for borrowing them. And soup was supposedly good for people who were ill but Ford was _hopeless_ in the kitchen – besides, he couldn’t run the risk of waking Pa up. Maybe the diner nearby would still be open? Should he get it and bring it back to the car, or bring Stanley inside? Either way that would have to wait until Stanley’s body temperature had risen enough to be stable…

Then Ford realized that he’d been saying all this out loud. He shook his head to clear it and tightened his grip on his brother, who was currently flopped against Ford’s wet sweater. Ford couldn’t help but ramble as he stirred Stan into action.

“Come on, get up. We have to move. I’m not gonna carry you, knucklehead, I’m not that strong and you’re not that light. Here, give me your arm – good. Let’s go. One step at a time. Yeah, you’ve got it. Not that much further. Oh, there’s your jacket. You forgot it at home, Lee.”

Stan mumbled something, stumbling even under half of his own weight.

“Of course I came to give it to you. Don’t you remember? Wherever we go, we go together.”


End file.
